In the Cold Cold Night
by cedari
Summary: COMPLETE It started of as something to meet their needs but then………. “So now she craved for the sweet, warming flow of passion to wash over her. Bathe her. Flood her insides. That’s why she was here, looking for him.” HrD
1. I saw you standing in the corner

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In the Cold, Cold Night

By Cedar1

A/N 

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Story summary:

Song fic (kind of) based on The White Stripes song, 'In the Cold, Cold Night' Will be short chapters based on events of a single night focusing on 

the relationship formed between Hermione and Draco in the war. They both feel dead inside and it starts as a way for them to 'feel' again but then..........

I know I said no more new stuff till I get all the others out of the way. But everytime I listen to The White Stripes album, the idea just plagues on my mind. So I'm sorry. But that said the nxt chapter of **'Another Chance**' should be posted by the end of this week, just putting the finishing touches on it. And have two stories for **'Different Paths**' nearly completed, and they too should be up soon! 

But in the mean time hope u enjoy this and as usual **LOVE** the ol' reviews, so please send them.

Cheers! Cedar1

Disclaimer: Characters JK Rowling. Song and Inspiration The White Stripes

Major thanx to my lovely beta (yup finally got one!) trinity marquise

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In the Cold Cold Night

__

I saw you standing in the corner

On the edge of a burning light 

I saw you standing in the corner

Come to me again

In the cold, cold night

In the cold, cold night

Chapter 1: **I saw you standing in the corner**

The stench of burning flesh reached her sensitive nose as the night air caressed her bare arms, bringing up goose pimples on her pale flesh. Although the thought sickened her, the smell brought to mind summer barbecues at her house nestled in the depths of the English countryside. Her dad would stand proud by the smoking coals, when in fact it had been her mother who had spent the previous two hours getting the darn thing to light. But her mum had always pampered her father, falsely praising him for all his hard work. That was true love, thought Hermione wistfully.

It had been a while since she had seen that sort of display of affection. There was no time to love during war. From dawn to dusk the scraps of emotions that littered the mind were placed to one side, for they were a weakness in battle. One slip of a feeling was seen as a prelude to the path of gloomy death. The sources of tenderness that she had once taken for granted were now no longer there to warm her soul. She had not seen her parents for many months, the ministry deeming that a single visit would condemn them to death at the hands of Death Eaters. As for Ron and Harry… Well. The former had died in a blurred memory of green flashes and piercing screams. Cruelly, her vision would sharpen when the image of a mangled body splattered by mud came into mind. The pale, blue skin contrasting strongly with the fire-engine red hair, the only thing that remained of her once alive best friend. She had cried. She remembered Lavender, Hannah, Parvati, and girls whose names she didn't know rocking her to sleep. Their arms wrapped round her, telling her it would all be alright. But it never was. He never came back. 

While she had grieved by trying to cry the pain out, Harry had thrown himself into his work. He planned and prepared throughout the day and the night. And when he grew tired of doing that he would stare at the list of the supposed Death Eaters tacked on his wall. Some names had been violently scratched out; they belonged to the dead and whose wands were already safely locked in the cabinet by his bed. The remainder was imprinted on the back of his skull. His pain wouldn't go till there was no one left, till all the wands had been collected. The desire for revenge consumed him at the expense of his ability to love, which had long been eaten away.

So now she craved for the sweet, warming flow of passion to wash over her. Bathe her. Flood her insides. Receiving nothing meant she believed she too was incapable of giving anything, feeling anything. That's why she was here. Outside instead of in. And not dressed in baggy, clean pyjamas but a shabby, dirty robe that was soiled with the foul combination of her sweat and the blood of others. She was looking for him.

She looked at the watch on her right wrist. The fluorescent digits shone in the darkness, their garish colour offending her eyes. 00.30. She had been wandering for about an hour now. Through the tents of the troops, around the graves of those that had past, watching that she did not stand on the dying embers of the fires that had been lit earlier that night, or the flowers that lay sadly on the mounds, paying equal respect to both the dead and the living. She was just about to give up hope when she caught a flash of platinum blonde. She moved closer just to make sure it was him. And there is was again, another quick peak at gleaming strands that strayed from the confines of the black hood that had been pulled up.

It was him.

**'I saw you standing in the corner'**

He was positioned on the boundary that marked the furthest edge of the light side resting zone and the beginning of the battlefield. His dark clothing and the shadows of the night made it difficult for her to see him clearly. Squinting she just about made out the outline of his form. A tall figure, broad shoulders, medium build, nothing that would immediately catch one's attention. But then he shifted slightly so his back was no longer the only part of him facing her. It was then that she was absolutely positive it could be no one else. 

**'On the edge of a burning light'**

The light produced by the bright white flame that had been previously blocked by his body danced on his features. The brilliant glow skimmed over the smooth planes of his cheekbones, brushed against his full lips and highlighted the stunning perfection of his eyes. He was never going to be conventionally good looking. His nose and chin still harsh and pointed in their shape. But to her, he was beautiful. 

**'I saw you standing in the corner'**

He was beautiful because he gave her something she wanted. Something he needed as much as she did. 

The chance to feel again. 

To stop being so cold inside. 

He, too, had had his fair share of the horrors of war, and he, too, had ghosts that kept him company in the lonely hours...... his mother and his father. Although he had switched sides early on while they hadn't, their deaths still hit him hard. He did not see them as evil Death Eaters but as the people who had raised him, and at times had loved him. But they were not the only ones that had led to the destructive surge of ice that had crept upon his heart. His friends had also perished in the same way, some even by his own wand.

She could have felt sorry for him. 

But she didn't. That was what war did. Shit happens. 

But she understood him.

She hadn't been aware of it, but she was slowly walking towards him, her feet sinking slightly in the mud. He was now within reaching distance. She stretched out her hand, aiming to grasp his in hers. But he had been conscious of the body by his side and turned round abruptly. Shocked she dropped her arm by her side.

**'Come to me again'**

But he had realized the intention of her gesture, and he now took the role of initiator, entwining his fingers around hers. He squeezed them gently, sparks of electricity jolting through her. She closed her eyes, enjoying the shivers that traveled along her arm. She smiled at the sensations she felt, feelings only hours ago she thought she had forgotten.

But as ever, he reminded her. 

They stayed like that for what seemed like days but in fact lasted only mere seconds. No words were spoken. Their silent companionship shrouded them like a blanket, protecting them from the wind that was beginning to pick up in speed. Like his, her eyes weren't trained on anything particular. They just stared blankly at the expanse of ground that lay before them and the shimmering flickers of the green flames that marked the camp of the death eaters in the distance. 

How could things have come this?

The question threw up a number of reasons in her head. But none were able to justify the numerable lives the war had used up and spat out with vengeance. The picture of Ron once more entered her head. Her ghost had returned.

She began to feel cold again 

Handholding wasn't enough anymore. She released the grip on his fingers. He looked down at her, his grey eyes narrowed in confusion. 

"I was feeling cold," she stated.

**'In the cold, cold night'**

He nodded his head. She didn't know whether that was an acknowledgement or an agreement. Either way he understood. 

She started walking away from him. Her hands dug deep into her pockets, trying to warm her fingers, since they had lost the scorching heat of his. For each step she moved away from him, the weight of the feeling of emptiness that was now so familiar to her began to get heavier and heavier. 

**'In the cold, cold night'**

But it wouldn't last long. He would always stay that bit longer after she left. Pondering what, she wasn't sure. But she was certain of one thing. Sooner or later, he would follow her path, where the coldness that racked their souls would temporarily be melted.

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*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*End Chapter One*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N once more a pathetic plea: **if uve read till here please review**, it really doesn't take long!! 

Ta!


	2. When you're gone I grow colder

**In the Cold Cold Night**

**By Cedar1**

A/N Hey just wanted to say a huge thanx for all the reviews I got – mesmer, lupin lover, Frozen Darkness, Chillkat, ebonyblack, Jessica, Angie, UNKNOWN, anne, Thalion '81- have never got so many for one chapter b4 made me v.v. happy!

Sorry 4 any confusion in the last chapter hope this one is better and u like it. If u read till the end u guys know what to do...... v. obvious winking

Disclaimer: JK Rowling for characters and The White Stripes for lyrics and inspiration (bold and italic)

Big cheers to my beta Trinity Marquise without whom my writing would make no sense what so ever! 

**In The Cold Cold Night **

**_You make me feel a little older_**

**_Like a full grown woman might_**

**_But when you're gone I grow colder_**

**_Come to me again_**

**_In the cold, cold night_**

**_In the cold, cold night_**

**Chapter 2: When you're gone I grow colder **

After meeting him, Hermione had gone straight home. It wasn't really a home, just a place the ministry had given her, a house close enough to get to the battlefield in case there was an emergency. With this being their main aim, comfort was never really an issue. The house was small, cramped, and smelt vaguely of dust. Hermione had gone straight to her room. She never went to any of the other rooms; they were too bare, so unlike her own house. The bedroom was the only place that had any similarities to her old life, the one that she sorely missed. The bright pink walls were a bit much in the early mornings, but it was rare to see such a cheerful colour. She only seemed to see black and dull red now. The time was 1.30, and he still hadn't arrived. She never knew when he would turn up. That's why she always got ready for bed. He would come, when he came.

She rubbed the pad against her face: under her eyes, across her forehead, along her jaw. She applied so much pressure that the skin actually blanched slightly. She always did this. She wanted it all to go away: the bits of dirt that came home with her from the war, the blood, and the mud trapped in her pores. She pulled the cotton wool away from her face and examined it. Black. She threw it in the bin, easily, as if it was no longer of significance, tossed to the side, to be forgotten soon. If only everything else was that easy. Her gaze slid to the wooden frame that was a permanent fixture on her dressing table. Three smiling faces looked back at her, their arms eagerly waving from side to side. She could feel the pricking feeling of tears piercing the back of her eyeball, wanting nothing more than to be set free. But she was determined to deny them. Shaking fingers placed the picture downwards, so she no longer had to look at those overly happy people again. They didn't exist any more.

She picked up another pad and started the cleansing routine again; however, every so often she could feel herself glancing at the wooden frame, regret weighing heavy on her mind. And so half an hour passed as she moved from one side of her room to another making all the normal preparations for bed. She switched off the light in her bathroom, and on her way to bed she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Tangles of dull, bushy, brown hair reached past her shoulders, covering the top part of her piglet pyjamas - an old favourite. She had lost a bit of weight; however, she was still on the curvy side, the slight bump of her tummy stretching out the elastic of her pyjama bottoms. Yet her face had still maintained its childhood roundness, her cheeks still full, stained with a red blush that never seemed to go away. She wasn't pretty. She knew it. She always did. But she had hoped that when she got older she would finally grow up, maybe not quite the extreme of the ugly duckling to the beautiful swan transformation, but some changes would have been appreciated. She shrugged her shoulders half-heartedly. Oh well! She turned around with the intention of getting into bed when she saw him.

She gasped in surprise.

"I'm sorry. I let myself in," he apologised quickly when he saw the familiar darkening of her brown eyes that came with the start of a reprimand, a memory from his youth.

"It's alright," she said maybe a bit to briskly. It was still awkward, seeing him on her bed. He seemed so comfortable, perched on the side, despite the girly frills that trimmed the duvet. She stood stiffly in front of him, her arms pressed to her side. She didn't know what to do with them. A sense of inadequacy filled up inside of her. She never knew what to do. How to start it. He was always the gentleman and made the first move, saving her from the embarrassment. And tonight was no different. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor. She wasn't meant to be feeling insecure like a child, for God's sake she was an adult, but she invariably did. She heard him sigh, and in a matter of seconds he had moved to stand in front of her. Her gaze still downcast, she noted how he had already taken his shoes off. He had quite small feet for his size and the second toe was ever so slightly larger than the first. She smiled at the discrepancy. But her thoughts on his feet were instantly brought to a halt when another part of his body entered the sphere of her vision.

His fingers began to slide along the cotton of her nightshirt, gently undoing each button they came across. With each action, his cool fingers would brush against her bare stomach for a few unbearable milliseconds, before they continued upwards. She couldn't help but press her flesh against him, wanting those sensations to last that little bit longer. He was now at her breasts, and her breath caught in her throat as he tenderly grazed along the boundary where her bra met her skin. She could feel her lungs burning inside her, their need for air getting desperate. But she couldn't, not while she felt that the skin under his fingers was going to begin melting away slowly, and painfully. Finally, he stopped his wandering and proceeded with his original purpose of getting the shirt off her body. It fell on the floor, pooling near her feet in a messy pile. But she wasn't bothered; she could finally breathe. It came out more like a sigh, one of relief or pleasure. She didn't know nor did she care for he was now slipping those beautifully graceful hands down the band of her trousers.

He skimmed past the material of underwear, more concerned with feeling the soft skin of her hips. He gently tickled the area, knowing exactly how she would react. She leaned herself more fully against him, her legs buckling slightly under her. She was starting to breathe harder, the heat from her mouth caressing the curve of his neck causing him to shudder involuntarily. He couldn't explain how she made him feel like this. But she did it so well that he couldn't give her up. Every night she would find him, offer herself to him without saying so in actual words, but the invitation was always clearly there, hanging in the air. And he would watch as she walked away from him, his mind torn in two warring halves, one urging him to follow her, while the other reminded him of who she was. It wasn't because she was simply a Muggle, or because she was the best friend of the "greatest wizard alive", but because she was everything his family, his friends had despised. Going to her felt like the ultimate betrayal, twisting a knife in the back of their corpses. Yet each night, here he was. His hands were now pulling her pyjama bottoms down so it joined the other pointless garment on the floor. He was weak; he knew it. He was kissing the slope of her tummy, the sweet taste of her tingling the buds of his tongue. Her hands had entangled themselves in his hair, stroking the strands between her fingertips, rubbing his scalp. As he dipped his tongue into her navel, the fingers in his hair bent into a fist, tightening her grip as she let out a low, soft moan. She began to pull him up, and he obliged standing up to once more face her. She didn't give him anytime before her lips were upon his.

Ginger. He always tasted of ginger. Strange. It was probably good she liked the taste of it, and she pushed her lips harder against his, her tongue stroking against his lower lip demanding entrance. He gave in immediately.

Kissing him was becoming so natural now. Never in a million years did she think she would be saying that about Draco Malfoy, but it was true. Of course she had had kisses in the past, the unintentional bashing of teeth that came with first kiss and the adventurous wandering of hands that came with second, third, fourth and so on attempts. But never had she been able to kiss without thinking, able to switch her mind off completely and just enjoy the whole experience. In the past, she was continually planning her next moves during the act, fearing that she would do something wrong. Yet with Draco, she never had to do that. Her hands would just slide up over his shoulders, up his neck, in his hair on their own. Her teeth would just playfully nip his lower lip at certain times with no command from her. She wasn't scared of deciding what to do next, like she did when she was a child…Perhaps she was finally growing up.

**'You make me feel a little older'**

Together they shuffled towards the bed, dancing around the discarded clothes and the dressing table stool. Her body sunk into the soft mattress as he pushed her onto it gently. Blonde strands began tickling her face with short, silky touches. It stopped and then started again. She couldn't help but laugh, the noise bubbled up her throat and into his mouth. He stopped kissing her and looked curiously down at her. She returned it with an apologetic look in response.

"Your hair. It was tickling my face." She brushed her fingers against the offenders, the action supporting her excuse.

He smiled back, before starting to delicately press kisses on the regions of her face that had been victim of his unruly hair. Reflexively she arched her body up to meet his and became acutely aware of the fact that while she was in a state of near nakedness he was still wearing nearly all his clothes. Slipping her hands under his jumper she traced the fine scars that slashed his pale skin. With each touch she could feel him tremble next to her, and his lips, which were now on her neck, started to suck more violently at her flesh. It felt like there was a flame held right there, warming her from the outside in. She suddenly got frantic, her clumsy hands forcing the top above his head and then trying desperately to undo the zip of his trousers, pushing it down his legs with her feet. She needed it now. Needed that burning feeling consuming her, the feeling that the kiss on the neck only hinted at.

He got the idea and was soon just as eager. He pulled off the last barriers that separated them from what they had wanted all night. And as they moved together, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands pressing hard on his back, they closed their eyes. It was getting faster and harder, and each got sucked into the whirlwind of heat and pleasure that rocked every nerve, every cell in their body. For those few minutes they forgot everything: their dead friends, the war that threatened to kill off the remaining people in their pathetic lives, and even the fear that they would be the next ones in the coffin. They weren't leaders or soldiers for that short period of time. They were just two adults: a man and a woman enjoying the only pure thing left in the tainted world they lived in.

**'Like a full grown woman might'**

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She tugged on her duvet, trying to get the remaining material free from its position tucked under the mattress. It came away with an 'oomph' and she proceeded in enfolding it around her, gathering the edges under her legs, her arms. She curled up on her side of the bed. She looked at the empty space next to her forlornly; she didn't need such a big bed. It just made her feel even more alone than she already did. He had left soon after they had climaxed. He always did that. They managed to excuse away the sex on the simple desire for a quick fix of heat, but staying in each other's arms was something too intimate for either of them. That wasn't just warmth; it hiked up their behaviour to another level occupied by lovers and couples. They could never be either of them, there was too much baggage weighing down both their hearts. He couldn't betray his dead parents; she, her dead friend and the other one who just acted like such.

Yet that didn't stop her from wishing he was still here.

**'But when you're gone I grow colder'**

Every time he left, a chill seemed to seep into her bedroom causing the hairs of her neck to stand up to attention and her teeth to clash uncontrollably in her mouth. She buried her face in her pillow and screwed up her eyes so tightly her muscles hurt. She needed to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be another long day. But try as she might, it never came. An exasperated sigh burst from her lips.

Why did this happen every time he left? She got up, and with the duvet still wrapped around her, she went to sit on the window seat in the opposite side of the room.

It wasn't as if she loved him. Or even cared for him.

But how could she explain the grief and sense of rejection she felt when he exited her bed?

Or how she'd spend the rest of the night praying that it was already the next day and that he was back with her again?

**'Come to me again'**

Or how she would look at the lists that were pinned on the headquarters notice board at the end of each day, scared that his name would be among the dead. And how as she scanned the paper her heart would actually swell with fright, but then when she knew he was safe, it would deflate with relief.

She leaned her head against the pane of glass by her side. The coldness numbing any sensation the skin of her forehead could possibly feel, but it had no affect on the confusion that muddled her brain into a mess.

Why did she have to complicate things? She was always making the situation more complex than it need be. Like when a routine war procedure spiralled into the death of Ron. It was her fault. She had been the one to say that it would be better if only the two of them launched the surprise attack, saying that more - the planned number- would be too many and decrease their chances of success. She had been so sure of herself. So confident in her abilities as a war strategist, for hadn't she been the brain behind all their adventures at school. It had seemed to be so obviously perfect to her.

But it hadn't been, she'd underestimated the capabilities of the enemy and they had had their own tricks hidden beneath their sleeves. One Death Eater had rapidly grown to two and then to three. So many. They couldn't handle it by themselves. And by the time Harry and the rest got there it had been too late, Ron was dead and she was on the brink of it. They had rescued her in the nick of time. There were times that she wished that she had died, not Ron. It would have made sense. _God must have one illogical take on what goes on in li__fe_, she thought bitterly. _Yeah, that's right, try and blame him. The easy way out,_ her inner voice would say.

**'In the cold, cold night'**

But in reality it was her blunder, no one else's. That's why it was so hard for her to see his photograph. She killed him. He was in effect grinning madly at his murderer, and it made her sick to the core. She found herself staring at the picture frame. She walked over to it and returned it to its rightful position.

"I'm sorry, Ron."

He was giving the Hermione next to him a peck on the cheek.

"I'm so sorry, Ron," she said again. She dropped to her knees, entreating for his forgiveness.

**'In the cold, cold night' **

And as she cried she knew that whatever the feelings she had for him, she never wanted to lose Draco like she had lost Ron.

**End Chapter 2 **

A/N **As**** always love reviews so please send them if u've read till here! Cheers!**

(that was my first attempt at sumthin smutish. Was it alrite or did it completely suck?)


	3. I don't care what other people say

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**In The Cold Cold Night**

**By Cedar1**

A/N I'm completely overwhelmed by the number of reviews I'm getting for this, its so lovely hearing your views and makes me rather cheesily happy. So thank you Mesmer, Frozen Darkness, Donnie, tabitoo, QuestionMark?, cjean, Forever Dracula's Bride, moonlightpixie89, amber, lucyferina, justcrazyobessed, Thalion '81, Stacey, roseshavethorns, spectrosilver, Caitlin

Had a request to email when i nxt update (no problem Stacey) if there is anyone else who would like me to email them as well tell me in ure review, and leave ure email address nxt to ure name!!

Not sure if mentioned this but the story is not just over a night anymore, several mths will have now passed.

So thanx again and hope u enjoy it......

Disclaimer: Inspiration and Lyrics The White Stripes (bold and italic) and characters from that clever fox JK Rowling

Trinity Marquise Cheers Dears! 4 betaing

**In The Cold Cold Night**

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**_I see you walking by my front door_**

**_I hear the creaking of the kitchen floor_**

**_I don't care what other people say_**

**_I'm going to love you any way_**

**_Come to me again_**

**_In the cold, cold night_**

**_In the cold, cold night_**

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**Chapter 3: I don't care what other people say**

Turning over on her side, Hermione cast a glance at the tiny alarm clock that was the sole occupant of her bedside table. She watched as the two flipped to a three. One more minute had gone, and he had still not come. Months had past since their routine for 'warmth' had first been established, and his arrival was no longer a surprise. Times had been decided, and up untill tonight, they had always been met. Sitting up, she failed to defend herself against the surges of worry and fear that flooded her mind, as images of his dead body flashed through her brain. She probably shouldn't be worrying about him. He was a grown man, and she had been telling herself all along that this was a relationship of convenience and raw needs: emotions were not involved.

But who was she kidding?

Her emotions had been involved ever since he had first slept in her bed. She was just that kind of a girl. She had tried to deny them, tried to suppress them. But she had them, and what's more, Hermione Granger, achiever of the highest scores in the history of Hogwarts, couldn't explain them.

The war had not relented in its viciousness or ferociousness. Casualties on both sides were rising, and any hope for an end was diminishing day by day. Aurors were being sent on missions that saw more die than return. Draco in particular was one of those that received orders for such suicide operations. In truth, he got more than most, the prejudice against his family still living on in the minds of the strategists. And so at the beginning of each day Hermione would watch his blonde hair disappear into the horizon, praying that he would come back. Being in the front line herself, she was not able to stay in her chosen spot, yet through the astonished whispers that past back and forth between the troops, the news of his return would eventually reach her ears, and that feeling of peace would once again consume her tense body.

But she hadn't heard anything today. The word 'Malfoy' had not been mentioned once, and she had gone home that night with a slight sickness to her stomach. She had waited for hours, sat on the edge of her bed, her gaze never leaving the door of her bedroom, waiting for the handle to move. It had turned 12.00 and he had still not shown up, so she had decided that perhaps if she went to bed and slept, time would go faster. But her attempt had been in vain, for all she had done was lie in bed, wide-eyed and fully awake.

What should she do?

It was past three now, and the first rays of a new day would be shining through her bright pink curtains soon. Her mind flipped through her options, the logical side to her adding the advantages and disadvantages of each action.

Go out and search for him, but what about the old saying that declared that it was best to stay in one place?****

Do nothing. And drive herself mad in the process.

But there was one, that although was the best, was also the most unappealing… go and see Harry. He would know where Draco had been sent, and where he was now. He was privy to information that Hermione never could be. He could help her.

He would help her.

Grabbing her dressing gown that was slung over the dressing table chair, Hermione headed downstairs. Opening the living room door she was mildly surprised to see how dingy the place actually was. The silver threads of intricate spiders webs shone eerily in the darkness. Well, that's what she got for not cleaning. Walking over to the fireplace, she flinched slightly at the sensation of dust sticking to her bare feet, the particles settling uncomfortably between her toes. Squinting, she could just about make out the small brass pot that held the granules of Floo powder. She rarely used this mode of transport, mainly because she hated the feeling of the ground leaving her feet. She liked to have something stable and constant beneath her; the thought of being suspended in just space was one that she detested. Yet there were times when her childish fears would have to be met, and this was one of them.

With a determined look on her face, she grasped a handful of the colourful powder and stood within the fireplace. And as she threw the powder from her fist to the floor, she screamed the name, 'Harry Potter'. She closed her eyes tightly as she felt the air around her pass by her at such an incredible speed that a loud whooshing noise filled her ears. What had felt like an eternity, but was in reality seconds, ended as she could feel her feet contact the hard floor. With the memento of the force still continuing her legs buckled under her, and she fell in an ungraceful heap on the soot covered floor.

"Hermione."

At first she had failed to hear him, the spinning sensation in her head dampening her senses. But when a hand made contact with her shoulder, she was brought out of her daze. Looking up she saw him staring down at her. The Floo network that had been set up by the order had probably alerted him of the arrival of someone, and he had most likely been waiting patiently for her.

"Hi, Harry," she said weakly. Rising from her position on the floor, she stood up and greeted her best friend with a hug. And although her arms were squeezed tightly round his lean body, his remained motionless by his side. Even when she gave him a tentative peck on the cheek, he failed to respond. He didn't even blush like he used to. His face stayed expressionless. His eyes dead. Feeling awkward, Hermione released her grip and stepped away from him.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice flat and monotone.

The dull glow from the lowly lantern that hung in the corner was enough for Hermione to properly assess the man before her. He had lost weight. A hell of a lot of weight. His clothes hung from his body. What had once been broad from the years of Quidditch training was now reduced to bone and wire-like muscles. It was almost like he was once again wearing Dudley's clothes. But she caught the small logo of the Chudley Cannons embroided on the pocket. The top had been a gift from Ron many Christmases ago. But his face was probably the part of him that had changed the most. Her memories of handsome features faded fast, succumbing to red eyes, black bags, a thin, stretched mouth and dipping cheekbones.

"I came to see you," she lied.

He cocked his head to the side. Even after all that had happened, he could still read her like a book.

She fiddled nervously with the tie of her robe, biding time for the courage to reply to build up within her.

"I wanted to know if you knew where Draco was." Her words had come out as a whisper. She was too scared of his reaction to say them out aloud. Despite his deference to the light side Harry had never liked him, or trusted him, even when Ron was alive. Now that Ron was dead Harry trusted no one; if he couldn't believe in God there was no hope for anyone else.

"Why do you want to know?"

He had not reacted as violently as she thought he would have, but his thin lips had dipped into a slight scowl, and that action alone was enough to indicate his displeasure at being asked such a question.

"Because I was worried about him," she replied truthfully.

"And why would you be worried about him?"

It became obvious that he was leading her on, prodding her to confess. He knew. She didn't know how, and yet she still couldn't get the words out of her. Instead she chose to look shamefully at her dirt-covered feet.

"Is the sex worth it?"

She cringed when he had said the word sex, his tongue lengthening those three dirty letters so it hung like a bad smell in the air around them. Was their relationship just meaningless sex? There was no way the term a 'true relationship' could be used to describe them.

But then, Hermione Granger would not partake in such activities. No, their relationship was something that transcended above that. Hermione suddenly felt the strong urge to defend herself, wanting to confirm the fact that her morals were still intact to him, and probably to herself.

"Worth what?" She was no longer the pathetic woman she was at the beginning of their meeting, as her voice came out strong and clear, demanding to know what he had meant.

He smirked at her anger.

"Worth Ron's death. Because isn't that when you started sleeping with Malfoy?" He said it as if he was merely inquiring about the weather, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. But beneath that were intense feelings of malice and hatred that whacked Hermione into speechlessness. How dare he suggest that she would sacrifice Ron just for the chance to roll around in bed with Malfoy?

"What the hell's that supposed to mean? You know I'd give anything to get Ron back!" Hermione screamed, her voice cracking with the raw emotion that exploded from her.

Harry seemed unaffected by her rage and simply shrugged his shoulders in response.

Hermione watched dumbly as he turned away from her and began walking towards the door that led to his study. How could he not believe her? She had always thought he had knew her so well, that he could see the truth within her, even at times when she was unwilling to concede to it. Perhaps…

…She really did prefer the 'thing' - for she had yet the time or the energy to define it in words - Malfoy gave her to the years of friendship and platonic love that Ron had bestowed on her?

Was he really more important to her than Ron was?

That was the ultimate question and it made Hermione want to fall to her knees and cry. She couldn't win either way. If she said 'no' she would be branded a slut. They wouldn't, he couldn't, understand the desire to feel wanted, the need to be engulfed by pleasurable heat that had first driven her to go to him. No, she would simply be the heroine that had fallen to the lows of being a whore.

On the other hand if she said 'yes' she would have to come to terms with the fact that she had fallen for someone, someone that she never should have. Draco was never the man that had entered her dreams during sleepless school nights when she imagined her future with a thatched cottage and two kids. In fact, in the later years it had been Ron's tall frame that would be next to her, his arm wrapped lovingly around her. Of course it had never happened. Ron had always been too shy when it came to asking her out and she too stubborn, believing it was time he grew up, and she wasn't going to help him do it.

And now?

Now it was a mess.

Hermione gave way to the emotions that engulfed her and crumbled to the floor, rocking back and forth like the mad woman she had become. A tissue was suddenly trust in front of her nose. She snatched it from the air and roughly dried her eyes and wiped her nose.

"He was sent out to the Rockerford area. There had been reports of death eater meetings there yesterday. His mission was to verify this information and gather any intelligence if possible. I've just talked to Pickford, he said he got into some trouble but he's alright and managed to get out of there with all limbs attached."

Not like Ron.

The words were unspoken but they were no doubt thought as he ended his speech with a touch of distain.

Gathering her legs from under her, Hermione stood up, her legs wobbling slightly from the information that he was safe and from the giddiness that came from crying. She looked up at him. His face was set like stone, not a glimmer of emotion lighting of any of his features. It was ironic, really. The man that he seemed to hate so much was the one that he had become so much alike. The coldness, the stoic expression, all the things that had once defined Draco Malfoy now described her best friend perfectly.

"Thanks, Harry."

She considered kissing him. But his previous response to the action made her hold back and stand her ground.

"I had better get going," she said, her words filling the silence. He simply stared at her. Hermione felt the sudden urge to get the hell out of his house. The thought that Draco would soon arrive at her house and the need to get away from Harry's dead eyes and the suffocating atmosphere that surrounded them all played equal parts in her decision. Putting one foot behind the other, she backed her way towards the fire place. She turned round at the last instant, perhaps hoping he would say something. Anything. Grasping another handful of floo powder from the pot nearby, she prepared herself to go home. The granules had slipped through the cracks of her slim fingers and her lips had opened, ready to give the command that would send her back home, when he suddenly spoke.

"He loved you, you know. Ron loved you."

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Hermione filtered through the photographs that were scattered haphazardly on the floor in front of her, each one depicting a brown haired girl and a flame haired boy. Flicking through them she watched as the two characters grew up, morphing from children to mature adults in their mid-twenties. Looking closer she could see the sparkle in their eyes that came with the nervous feelings of a crush and the bubbling tension of rising lust.

Of course she had loved him.

Of course he had loved her.

And of course she would always love him.

But did that mean that after he was gone, she was prohibited from indulging in a sexual relationship with another man? Did her ongoing love for a dead man tie her to a life of loneliness? Was she really betraying his memory?

Hermione stared at the mess she had created at her feet. She knew what Harry thought. He felt that she had disregarded and tossed away all the feelings she had for Ron. Or perhaps he thought she had simply forgotten that Ron had loved her, and by reminding her he had hoped that she would suddenly see the error of her ways and see the relationship she had with Malfoy as a giant mistake.

But the truth was, Hermione had never stopped loving Ron.

She had never forgotten.

Therefore, it would make sense to conclude that what she did with Malfoy wasn't a fault, but it meant something.

But what?

She was going round in circles. Always returning to the same question.

And the one person who could help her solve her problem had yet to arrive. She stood up, her legs cracking from the act. Walking over to the bedroom window, she stared out into the expanse of the world that lay outside. Then she saw it, the figure slipping through the patches of mist, heading for her front door.

** 'I see you walking by my front door'**

_It might not be him,_ a little voice in her head taunted her. But then she heard the click of the door rise up the stairs and to her ears.

It was him.

It had to be.

Her eyes were concentrated on the carpet of her bedroom. Her imagination was so good, she could practically see him walking through the kitchen, removing his cloak, and hanging it on the hook above the umbrella stand, having to stand on the tile that would groan when even the smallest of weights were placed upon it. As to assert her suspicions, the noise of the broken tile floated through the house.

** 'I hear the creaking of the kitchen floor'**

Well, it was now or never.

She tip-toed down the stairs, trying to avoid the steps that elicited the loud creaks that would echo through the house. She was behaving in a way that made no sense to anyone else but her. It was her house, her living room.

But she didn't want him to know she was there. She wanted the chance to look at him. To really look at him and decide what he meant to her. She couldn't have the issue tearing up her conscious any longer. It was dark on the staircase, and she had to keep one hand on the banister to guide her. Suddenly a faint glow dully lit the last step. He must have lit one of the lamps downstairs. Step by step she gradually made her way down and soon she was standing on the edge of the boundary that divided the living room from the hallway. Looking up she could see slithers of his reflection in the mirror that was placed opposite her. He must be sitting in the chair next to the door. He was so close, he might hear her, she thought suddenly, and she held her next breath in her throat. She stared at the pale skin and hair that lay side by side to layers of dust. The spot of red that were his lips. Soon she was pulled to the glinting silver of one of his eyes, the other being obscured by dirt. They were hard, impenetrable like the purest of diamonds. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. But then, that was nothing new.

Then she noticed it. The smudge of red that rested just above the smooth arch of his eyebrow. Her eyes began to dart over the mirror, and there it was again. Those smudges of red appearing again and again marring his flawless skin. The breath she had been holding came out in a gasp of horror. He was hurt. Forgetting her original plan, she rushed from her position to the place where she thought he sat.

**'I don't care what other people say'**

And he was exactly where she had guessed. His back was ramrod straight, and his arms lay stiffly on the arm rests, while the long lengths of his legs were spread apart. He had yet to look up at her. His eyes were staring straight through her stomach, staring into a world that was far from the reality in which they existed. She dared herself to touch one of the dark red patches with her finger. He flinched slightly as the slick substance came off onto her finger. It was definitely blood. But whose? _Please not his,_ she prayed as she once more placed a finger on his face. More liquid came off, but there was no cut or wound. It wasn't his blood. She stepped between his legs and with the sleeve of her robe, began wiping the substance that stained his skin. Finished with the forehead, she harshly grasped his chin, yanking his face upwards. And with a rush of fervent determination, she began cleaning the blood from the rest of his face. Caught up in her task she failed to notice how his eyes radiated with confusion at her sudden treatment. She needed to get it all off. Needed to know that he was all right. That he wouldn't die and leave her. And as she continued rubbing the blood from him, it all became clear in her head. If it wasn't for that instant of fear that he might be seriously hurt, a moment that hadn't been thought up in her imagination but a time when he was in front of her, covered in blood, she might never have known for definite. But now she did. It was that same feeling she had gotten when she had seen Ron's body. The dread that she would lose someone she loved.

There she had said it. She loved him.

**'I'm going to love you any way'__**

The cool touch of fingers against her skin brought her out of her insight.

"Hermione, I'm alright," he said.

"I know," she replied, "I know."

Her second response came out as a murmur as she leaned in to kiss the patch of skin above his right eye. The taste of him together with the metallic remnants of dried blood coated her lips, while the soft feel of his eyelashes fluttered against her chin. She pulled her lips back. But only ever so slightly as she lifted one leg at a time off the floor and onto the chair. Nudging his legs closer together, she moved so she was in effect straddled over him. She let her fingers trail down the side of his face, over his cheek, and down to the hidden area of skin below the lower corner of his jaw. Once more, she let herself come into contact with his skin. Her lips lingering for longer, as she enjoyed the way she could feel the rhythm of his pulse through them, reminding her that he was very much alive and was very much with her. Tilting her head she was now only fractions of millimetres away from his lips. She lifted her gaze off his mouth and up to his eyes. He was looking at her; the grey orbs swirled with darker clouds of black. Confusion mixed with lust. She knew she was acting out of their normal routine. She knew her lips came down on his skin in tender touches that were traditionally unused in their meetings. The way her fingers fleeted over his face, trying to remember every contour and curve was too slow, too loving. She never did that. Of course they were never rough with each other, but this was a moment that entered a world of intimacy, a place they had not yet dared visit. Hermione knew she was ready to take the first step, that it was something she wanted. The question was whether he wanted the same? Did he feel what she felt?

She gave him one final kiss on the corner of his lips before pulling away from him. Fingers trembling she reached out for the hand that lay on the armrest. She trailed her fingertips down the top of it, over the smooth bump of his knuckles until her hand was lying flat on his. He was cold, and she took it upon herself to heat him up. With firmer pressure she pressed down on his hand and then winding her fingers around his she lifted it off the chair. She could feel him staring at her, as she continued to pull his arm up higher and higher till their entwined fingers were at eye level. With another clever move, Hermione twisted their hands until one of his fingers was resting above her eyebrow, in the exact position where she had kissed him minutes ago. She finally looked down into his eyes. He knew what she wanted, what she craved.

**'_Come to me again'_**

The seconds dragged as Hermione gazed at him, desperately wanting to know what lay behind the grey depths of his eyes, wishing to be privy to the inner workings of his mind. In truth, it was all very selfish, for she wasn't really concerned about him but about what he would do. Would he reject her? Could he love her? It was all about her. Chiding herself on her self-centredness she was slow to realise his face was inching closer to her own. It was only when she could feel the hard body shift beneath her that she realised what was happening. She held her breath as the features of his face blurred in her vision as he neared her. And she didn't release it until she felt the soft touch of his lips against her forehead. She felt like all the bones in her body were melting, and her hand slipped from their mutual grasp landing on his lap with a soft thump. She was feeling weak everywhere but in her heart, which seemed to beat faster and faster with the renewed strength that washed over it.

****

****She closed her eyes as she concentrated on the feeling of his fingers tracing a path to her chin, stiffened as his fingertips curved over her jaw line onto her neck, and then shivered as he placed a gentle kiss in the spot. They started to move again, up to the corner of her mouth. She could feel the skin of her face start to glow with the redness of pleasure as he moved in to leave one final kiss. But he didn't move away from her as she thought he would. Instead he slowly slid his full lips until they were resting on hers, and began to kiss her with a tenderness that she had never felt before.

And that night, Hermione lost herself fully to it and to him.

****

**_ 'In the cold, cold night_**

**_ In the cold, cold night'_**

****

****

****

****

* * *

A/N Got requests to mention the war, Harry - who was a bit arseish I know. But hey its nice writing him like that, thou it may b a bit OOC - and her past relationship with Ron. Hope it twas alrite!

Any now its the end of another chapter and so its time for me to get down on my knees and beg for u lovely people to do the brill thing and **REVIEW**!!!

So go on.........

Luv Cedar1

Disclaimer: The kissing scene between Hr and D was a slightly altered form of a scene in the v. cute French film Amelie.


	4. So don't fight it any longer

**In the Cold Cold Night**

**By Cedar1**

Disclaimer: usual am afraid to report. JK Rowling 4 characters and the fab White Stripes for lyrics and inspiration.

A/N **thank you** thesexyflower, Forever Dracula's Bride, thalion, mesmer and lucy for reviewing

You guys are all stars!

okay am now just over half way thru. Only 2 more chapters to go after this one, so ure running out of chances to review hint hint so its probably best if u do one 4 this one as well (subtle. no?)

Thanx to jewel 4 bein amazing and betaing

**In the Cold Cold Night**

_**I can't stand it any longer**_

_**I need the fuel to make my fire bright**_

_**So don't fight it any longer**_

_**Come to me again**_

_**In the cold, cold night**_

_**In the cold, cold night**_

**Chapter 4: So don't fight it any longer**

Her cold fingers gripped the frayed material as she tried to wrap the tattered shawl tighter around her body, but the bitter chill was still able to penetrate through the wool and bite the flesh of her body. She had been stamping her feet on the ground so much that her footprints were clearly out lined in the mud. Anything to stop the cold from freezing her insides.

Where the hell was he?

She was angry. No, she was livid. That night had been perfect. A time when all the shit that had happened in her life had vanquished into a world where it didn't matter, where it was all forgotten. That night hadn't just been sex; it had been- to coin a phrase, which she had always thought was the epitome of cliché- 'making love.' She remembered everything. From the way his fingers would tease the skin of her neck to the way his lips felt on the curve of her hip as he had kissed his way down her body. Every part of her had felt alive in his arms, the tips of her toes, the hair on her head, even her damaged heart. He had done that. The feeling that reached through her, wrenching out all the sadness and despair that lay within, replacing it with the heat of love and hope. And it wasn't just the sex that had made it so special, so wondrous.

They had slept together, not just in the biblical sense but also in each other's arms. Her head had lain on his chest, her arm draped over his stomach, while his own had wrapped itself possessively around her waist. She had felt so safe, so far away from the war, from death. Sleep had come to her easy that night. His smell and his fingers running through her hair coaxed her into sweet darkness and dreams.

Then she had woken, and he was gone. No note. No flower. No sign that he had ever been there, that it had ever happened.

It had been two weeks since then. Two weeks and no visits. Not even a word had past between them. There were times that she thought she had made a mistake. That she had pushed herself into believing something that never could be; that never existed. The idea that they could love each other would seem preposterous in her head. _A Malfoy and a Mudbood! What the fuck was she thinking?_

But hadn't he whispered he loved her in her ear as he had entered her?

Hadn't she screamed it back to him when they had climaxed?

No, it had been real. All of it: the words, the feelings. He was just scared. And it had angered her. What kind of man was he? Running away from the only light that lit their dull lives. He was pathetic. He was gutless. He was weak. She had been furious enough to partake in his game of denial for a week. Stubborn in her belief that he would have to grow up, and that she wasn't going to baby him and tell him it would all work out in the end. It wouldn't. Their future together wasn't going to be one of sweet smelling roses and heart shaped chocolates. But there was a future and they were meant to be together and Hermione wasn't going to help him figure that out.

Then she remembered what that attitude had led to between her and Ron. Nothing. A big fat hole of emptiness. She had put a stopper in one relationship, and she wasn't going to ruin another. She wouldn't stand around and waste another round of years pining for a life that she herself had prevented by her stubborn and mulish attitude. He had filled her with something that she had thought she would never feel again. That she thought she had lost. That she now missed so much it hurt to think about it.

'**_I can't stand it any longer'_**

Now that she had had it, she didn't want to let it go. She felt empty without it. How many times had she used that word to describe the feeling inside her? Several? Hundreds? But she couldn't think of a better one. She felt like there was nothing in there. Just air. Useless, unfeeling air that swept through her diluting any thing that was left in her. She was just a body. Getting up. Fighting. Going to bed. She went through the motions like every one else, but there was nothing driving her except the ingrained programme that told her she had to keep going. She felt like a robot. Cold. She couldn't stay like this. She needed it.

She needed love.

'_**I need the fuel to make my fire bright'**_

When she was with him there was a voice within her telling her to keep fighting, to keep going on. And it wasn't just a sentence on continuous loop. It was an order that screamed at her, telling her that there was something worth fighting for, that there would be something waiting for her at the end of it all. And she knew he felt the same thing. He heard that same voice, but he was ignoring it, trying to block out its words.

'_**So don't fight it any longer'**_

Fuck it! She wasn't going to stand outside his house any more like some love- sick schoolgirl. If he wasn't going to come to her, well, she was damn well going to go to him.

'_**Come to me again'**_

Her legs kicked into action, her feet pounding on the ground as began to run to any place she could think of. The borders, the mess, the squalid tents that called themselves bathrooms, she would find him no matter how long it took. As the wind whipped her hair into a tangled mess and cut through the skin of her cheeks she began to realise what was holding him back, for it was the same thing that had had her crying in a mess on the floor.

Ghosts.

People haunting them, whispering in their heads, telling them what they should do, what they should feel, making sure that they would not forget them.

Ron's memory had done that to her, twisting the thoughts in her head, making her feel guilty for wanting something he would not have been happy with it.

But the truth was, they were the ones that were alive. They should be living the lives they want.

Her lungs were burning and her legs were beginning to ache with the lactic acid that was tightening her muscles. But she still kept running. Determination kept her from collapsing and giving up.

Giving up was the easy way out.

The option that got you nowhere.

'_**In the cold, cold night**_

_** In the cold, cold night'**_

* * *

A/N short chapter I know, but the next one is the climax and I'll be spending more time on Draco's point of review.

So please REVIEW and make this rather poor student v. happy! And u never know I won't leave a quillion weeks b4 I update!


	5. And I know that you feel it too

**In the Cold, Cold Night**

**By Cedar1**

Thanx theseus, maggie, Forever Dracula's Bride, unclear-meaning, CreekneedCharlie, total-nirvana and Thallion for all your lovely reviews. This is kindof the chapter where everything comes together, only one short part left to go after this.

Disclaimer: Characters JK Rowling... lyrics The White Stripes

Thanx to my beta jewel!

**In the Cold Cold Night**

_**And I know that you feel it too,**_

_**When my skin turns into glue, **_

_**You will know that it is warm inside**_

_**And you'll come run to me,**_

_**In the cold, cold night**_

_**In the cold, cold night**_

**Chapter 5: And I know that you feel it too**

He pulled the cigarette out of the packet, and was slightly dismayed by the fact that he couldn't feel that many left. It was a dirty habit. His mother used to shout at him every time she caught him in the bathroom, smoke wafting around the expensive gold fittings, and the sinful filter resting between his fingers. She used to say it wasn't refined, that it was the common hobby of the idle that had nothing better to do. With the raise of his eyes to the skies he made a silent apology to his dead mother.

_Sorry Mum._

And then he took a deep puff, closing his eyes as the nicotine hit the back of his throat.

_That's for you Dad._

Lucius Malfoy was as addicted to cigarettes as his son was; of course his wife knew nothing of it.

He tilted his head back, resting it against the rock, and looked up at the sky, like dark velvet pierced by a million diamonds. He wondered if they looking down at him... probably not. He took another puff. His father had not been pleased to find out his son had deserted the side of the Dark Lord in favour of a man he had often referred to as 'a fucking bastard.' Draco had never had the guts to inform his father of his choice. Instead, he had skulked away one night, head full of conflicting thoughts and the need to find Dumbledore causing his feet to pound the ground as he sprinted away from Malfoy Manor. Perhaps if he had not been such a coward his father would have had a shred of respect for him, even if it was never spoken. It would have been better than how it had ended – a dying father refusing to see that 'traitorous bastard of a son,' while shackled in an Auror prison.

Sometimes he considered it, going back to the dark side. After all it was expected of him. Nobody trusted him. He may not be book smart, but he could read people, the way their eyes narrowed when he came into a room, their constant shifting on their seats if he happened to sit next to them. What did they think he was going to do, murder them in a room full of Aurors? Stupid idiots. Although, truthfully, he had thought about it, just to see their reactions. It would have given him a moment of laughter before a dozen killing curses came his way. It wouldn't have been a bad way to die. Would probably be quite painless. Anything would be a lot better than what he could see in his future. Torture. That's what he saw, earth shattering torture. Could he expect anything less? They kept sending him out with only a bit of parchment telling him to go to some random location in the wilderness where he would hopefully, stumble upon a group of Death Eaters, be caught and then be killed. Fine, maybe the words 'caught' and 'killed' weren't mentioned, but he saw it in their barely hidden smiles as they gave out his orders, and every time he came back he saw the surprised looks on their faces as if to say, '_What, not dead yet? Oh well there's always tomorrow.'_ And what if he did die? Do you think there would be a grand ceremony, a sobbing mass crowding around the gravestone? Fuck no! Those privileges were saved for the real heroes, the Weasleys of the world; no, he'd be lucky if someone even bothered to dig a hole for his lifeless body.

The thoughts should have had him crying in despair, but instead he felt nothing, not anger, not sorrow, just a sense of right. Of course people mistrusted him; years of family background couldn't be easily forgotten plus a sudden change of heart. If someone told him that they had gone from being evil to being good in one sleepless night he himself would have thought they had a hidden agenda. So, no, it was right for there be no one else there at his funeral other than him. No one cared about Draco Malfoy other than Draco Malfoy.

_What about her?_ came that inner voice that messed with his thoughts and his mind.

What about her?

What about her?

He took another deep puff, his lungs inflating, filling up with pleasurable smoke. He held it in for as long as he could before he breathed out, and watched as the blue threads of smoke that escaped his lips float up to join the night air.

Why was she always causing problems, making his life difficult?

In school, she had humiliated him on several occasions, whether it be at the tip of her wand on the Hogwarts train or the palm of her hand. His father had hated her, perhaps even more so than he did Potter. A mudblood besting his son, his pureblood son, it was beyond the limits of his self-control. Whenever Draco would come home in the summer afflicted by yet another assault of curses his father would pace up and down promising his son that he would make sure they got their just returns, while his mother tended to his various boils and enlarged limbs. But the problems she caused this time were different, they weren't affecting his body but more his head and even more so his heart.

Was it love?

He didn't know. He knew he thought about her each time he came back from a mission with the need to be in her arms, in her house, coursing through his body. That was just need, wasn't it? Lust, a craving for a warm body, something to bring warmth to his cold life.

Yet somehow in his muddled mind, there had been a shift. She was no longer just a woman, she was Hermione, his Hermione, bossiness and irritating traits included, and he didn't even care.

Shit. Why was she always screwing him up? He didn't need this any more – confusion. It was that fucked up feeling that first made him run away and ruin the future he had always thought he would have. At the age of sixteen he was so sure of himself... leading Death Eater married to some stunning pureblood by the age of twenty-five. But what was he? Some messed up adult playing Auror and struggling with the possibility that he may actually have genuine feelings for a girl he had hated with a passion for most of his teenage years. God, what would his father say?

The question and the possible answer made him reach for another cigarette.

"Do you mind not smoking?" Her voice came out clear and strong, cutting into his thoughts.

He was determined to ignore her, and pluck one out of the packet and light it up right in front her, determined to show her he didn't care what she thought, that she hadn't screwed him up. However, he found himself withdrawing his hand from his pocket empty.

"Thank you."

He didn't reply, just gave a curt nod.

"Why are you being such a coward about this?"

He laughed. He hadn't meant to, it just came out, the irony of the statement having tickled his humour.

"Who would have thought it, Lucius Malfoy agreeing with a mudblood."

He hadn't seen it coming, the pale hand whipping through the air heading in the direction of his cheek. He only felt the stinging sensation it left on his skin as an after affect. He had a feeling it would be the second time he had her hand print embedded in his flesh, and once again he deserved it. He looked into her eyes for the first time since she had come, staring into the burning brown orbs that crackled with anger, hoping she would realise that what he was about to say next was the truth.

"I'm sorry."

He could see her shoulders shaking with fury and what's more the glistening tear that was forming in the corner of her right eye.

"Don't ever call me that name again."

She cut him off before he had chance to apologise again.

"And don't ever mention me in the same sentence as that hideous man."

That guilty emotion that had descended upon him evaporated away with that remark.

"That hideous man was my father." He could barely here his own voice, the tightness that had taken over in lips reducing his words to a mere whisper.

"He was a murderer first," she screamed back at him, her cheeks glowing with the redness that had exploded on her cheeks.

"Fuck you!" He yelled back. How dare she? So Lucius Malfoy hadn't been the perfect specimen of a father, he was still his father. Still the man that had given him Quidditch lessons when he was five, still the man that had taken him to buy his wand, still the man who had allowed the young Draco to drink a glass of wine at Christmas despite his mother's obvious disapproval. He wouldn't let her taint his memory of the man, and he began to walk away from her.

"Why do you let him take over you like that?"

He stopped. He shouldn't have but curiosity got the better of him.

"What?"

"The only reason you were a bastard to me at school was because your father told you to be. The only reason you went out with Pansy Parkinson was because he told you to. The only reason you went to all those Death Eater meetings was because your father wanted you to."

"What? You think my father would have wanted me to join Potter and his gang?"

He saw the smirk that formed on her lips in slow-motion.

"Sorry were you expecting a medal for a belated attack of consciousness."

Now she was making a mockery out of him...

"I don't need this, and I don't need you."

He began to move once again, his body full of angry energy. His hands had curled into fists by his side, so tight that his knuckles had blanched ghostly white. He was walking so fast that he could no longer feel her presence near him. The smell of her perfume was no longer tainting his skin with its sweetness. He was putting distance between himself between himself and her when she suddenly brought him crashing right back by her side with a final remark...

"The only reason you won't come back to me is because he wouldn't have liked it.

And don't give me this bullshit about not needing me. You need me as much as I need you.

You love me as much as I love you."

_**And I know that you feel it too,**_

It was so easy to deny the truth when it was never spoken, but when somebody else says it, it's always so much harder to ignore.

He could hear her footsteps as she made her way to him and held his breath as her hand landed on her shoulder.

"Are you saying you feel nothing when I do this?" Her fingers began to journey along the curve of his neck, exciting all the tiny hairs on his nape. He wanted to fight it, wanted to prove to his father that he was the son he always desired, but he couldn't resist it when she twisted his head so she was facing him.

"That you can't feel goose bumps exploding on your skin when I put my lips against yours?"

He fell into her, feeding off the warmth and happiness she filled him with. And he forgot. Forgot the fact that all opportunities to prove his worth to his father had gone and realised that it didn't matter any more. He was the past, as were his friends, their opinions were just barriers in front of his future... Hermione. He wasn't alone. He had her and that was enough for him.

"When you put your arms around me I feel like I'm melting, melting into you. You're the same aren't you?"

_**When my skin turns into glue,**_

To his disappointment, she broke of their connection. He stared at her swollen lips and watched as they curved and shifted when she next spoke.

"Well you know what I'm not going to wait for you. I've wasted too much of my life waiting.

But you know I'm right. You'll be knocking at my door tonight wanting me to let you in because you know I'm the only thing in your world apart from ghosts. Ghosts who can no longer love you like I can."

_**You will know that it is warm inside**_

_**And you'll come run to me,**_

00000000000000000000000

She walked away from him her heart breaking in her chest, fragments peeling off one by one. She felt sick, bile creeping up her throat. Its bitter taste coating the taste buds of her tongue. What had she done? She had been so angry; the words had just left her mouth without any thought behind them. A sudden wave of coldness hit her as a breeze from the south came sweeping past her.

_**In the cold, cold night**_

She stood still as realisation hit her. This was how she was going to be for the rest of her life: body numb, mind blank, heart dead.

_**In the cold, cold night**_

Then it happened. A warm hand landed on her own and fingers entwined around hers.

She turned around and found herself staring into silver eyes, and she knew that cold nights were a thing of the past.

A/N tried not to get too fluffy at the end, but what the hey. So please review if u've read till here cheers!

Luv Cedar1


	6. In the cold, cold night

**In the Cold, Cold Night**

**By Cedar1**

A/N hey this is it, have finally finished a fic! Yay! This chapter is not the best, but i thought it was a good way to end it.

Ahuge thanx for 48 reviews and ReginicSade87, DracoDraconis, galadriel787, patty, lacekiki, unclear-meaning, animelover8831 for reviewing the last chapter.

Big Star Jewel for sorting out all my grammar mistakes!

Disclaimer: JK Rowling- characters the White Stripes- song lyrics

**Epilogue: ****In the Cold, Cold Night**

_**In the cold, cold night**_

_**In the cold, cold night**_

**Epilogue: ****In the Cold, Cold Night**

He watched them from afar and envied them. Him with his proud stance and her with the two bunches of flowers held tightly against her chest. They had been stood there for a while, staring at the grave. From what he could see neither had spoken a word; they grieved silently. She bent down now and carefully placed one set of white lilies on the ground. A second was spent caressing one of the petals before she got up and the couple moved onto another grave, which was located further along. He tracked them from his spot on the hill, the jealously within him preventing him from leaving.

It was now not just one grave, but a pair. They were guarded by a marble statue, the mark of an expensive burial. He guessed they were the Malfoys. He shook his head in disgust. Those people never deserved a burial, but Dumbledore in all his fairness declared that even Death Eaters deserved the right to leave this world in the right way. They were people, too. He had laughed at that statement. Murderers more like, and there they were placing flowers on their grave.

How could she?

And the anger only increased as he saw her grab the man's hand and hold it in her own. The action was quickly followed by a tender kiss, arms wrapped around each other, fingers gently stroking cheeks. He could feel his heart suddenly contract with pain.

How could she?

They were walking away, out of the yard and into a world that was struggling to comprehend that finally Voldemort was merely a story and not reality. For a moment, he thought she was looking at him when she turned round. Her brown eyes trying to seek his emerald ones. But he was mistaken for she soon turned round to face her lover.

He remained in the graveyard for a long time after Hermione and Draco had left. Unlike them, he was unable to part from his ghosts. They were constantly with him, by his side, reminding him of the ones he could not save.

_**In the cold, cold night**_

_**In the cold, cold night**_

He had felt angry at Hermione for forgetting Ron and all the others who had perished, but as he sat there he realised that she wasn't the one to be pitied.

She had not forgotten… simply moved on, and unlike him, she did not relive the past, but instead enjoyed the future.

**The End**

* * *

A/N Thanx for reading and please review and let me know what u think, about the chapter, the story etc...

Cheers Cedar1

**_Lyrics_**: By The White Stripes

_I saw you standing in the corner_

_On the edge of a burning light_

_I saw you standing in the corner_

_Come to me again_

_In the cold cold night_

_In the cold cold night_

_You make me feel a little older_

_Like a full grown woman might_

_But when you're gone I grow colder_

_Come to me again_

_In the cold cold night_

_In the cold cold night_

_I see you walking by my front door_

_I hear the creaking of the kitchen floor_

_I don't care what other people say_

_I'm going to love you any way_

_Come to me again_

_In the cold cold night_

_In the cold cold night_

_I can't stand it any longer_

_I need the fuel to make my fire bright_

_So don't fight it any longer_

_Come to me again_

_In the cold cold night_

_In the cold cold night_

_And I know that you feel it too,_

_When my skin turns into glue, _

_You will know that it is warm inside_

_And you'll come run to me,_

_In the cold, cold night_

_In the cold, cold night_

_In the cold, cold night_

_In the cold, cold night_


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